Writing, my life
Helps me concentrate,
Helps me find my way.
Writing stories, it’s what I do
Fiction, non, horror, sci-fi
It came easy.
My escape.
My own personal hell.
Because no one wanted to read
The stories of a teenager.
Reading my favorite book,
I saw a line I had read one thousand times before.
Three rings for the Elven Kings
Tolkien, I knew, as a writer of stories.
But he was also a poet.
Could I write a poem?
Could I write like he did?
Could I write something that would mean something?
Could I write a poem?
Thinking about writing it was hard
Writer’s block was my constant companion.
The pages stared at me, accusingly.
So…
I stopped thinking about it
I wrote.
I wrote about my struggles, my passions, my beliefs.
I wrote of friendship, of love, of hate.
Writer’s block left me
The blank pages filled with words and meaning.
That was the beginning.
Writing fills my life.
Poems and stories,
They give me an escape,
Not a personal hell anymore.
Because I know that someone, somewhere
Will feel the same way I do
When I write.
Writing, anything, makes me feel alive.
It fills me with adrenaline, a rush.
As I continue to write even this,
My thoughts are racing,
Screaming to be put on the page in front of me.
What to say, what not to say,
How much to include.
I want to write about everything!
The pen and paper are my support
The keys I push my lifeline,
My lifeline to a world of my own.
That is why I write:
To create my own world
That maybe, someday, others will enjoy as well.